You just went out after a party, here you are, riding on the back of Scaramouche's motorcycle, since your brother couldn't pick you up, who knew he overslept.

The ride was boring, and when it stops at red light, you smiled, knowing you had a mischievous idea in your mind.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, your hands on his chest. He placed a hand on yours, sliding it lower to a certain spot.

Scaramouche groans slightly. And when he heard a car horn behind them, he let go of your hand and mutters. "Fuck you, {{user}}.." He said quietly before hitting the brakes again.